


do your trick, turn on the stars

by pancakewars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Getting Together, Multi, mild depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakewars/pseuds/pancakewars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima spends afternoons at the library doing assignments that aren’t due for weeks, and nights holed up in his room preparing instant dinners and drowning out the silence with loud music. He doesn’t wonder what life would be like if he’d chosen to stay in Miyagi, and he definitely doesn’t think about texting Yamaguchi.</p><p>Rinse, repeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do your trick, turn on the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, dearest sibling!! I don't know whether this will be anything like you envisioned, but I hope you enjoy it ♥
> 
> A million thanks to [alice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kierenwalkers/profile) for checking up on my progress every day to make sure I finished this, and  
> [reet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girltalk/profile) for all your feedback and help with the title!! Thank you both for the encouragement and for reading this over for me. What would I do without you ;___;
> 
> A lot of the credit for this goes to my sister (a.k.a the birthday girl) — she provided me with the outline a few months ago, I merely fleshed it out and put it into prose.

The weather is utterly miserable when Tsukishima takes the train into Tokyo’s shopping district. The streets are packed despite the rain— a definite result of it being the weekend— and Tsukishima has to be on constant alert to avoid having his eyes jabbed out by stray umbrellas. The air is _freezing_  for this time of the year.

He’s in and out of the department store in minutes, birthday present for his mother clutched tight in his hands. She likes perfume, so he’d picked out a bottle that seemed popular among ladies shopping there. It’s the first time since coming to Tokyo that he's gone out to explore someplace that isn’t his university, the grocery store, or the area immediately around his apartment; hopefully, she’ll like the gift.

In the short time he’d been indoors, the rain seems to have worsened. Tsukishima pulls his hood up and hurries in the direction of the station. It’s not a bad day, he tells himself. It’s just the weather that’s dismal. If he hurries, he can make it back to his apartment long before it gets dark, and have the rest of the night free.

His plan is cut short when he notices the row of popular eateries leading up to the station. Tsukishima finds himself slowing to examine their menus, starts weighing the option of an early dinner among noisy high schoolers against going home to eat alone again. It’s because he’s distracted that he doesn’t see the face of the person who walks into him.

It’s not often Tsukishima nearly gets bowled over in the middle of the street. It’s not like he’s easy to miss. The offending stranger manages not only to crash into him, but also to get his arm caught in the wire of Tsukishima’s headphones and pull them off Tsukishima’s neck.

Tsukishima makes a grab for his headphones as they go flying. By a stroke of luck, he manages to snag the wire and pull them in before they smash to pieces against the pavement. Only then does he become aware of how fast his heart is beating. It’s one thing to be nearly knocked over by a stranger, but his headphones— they’re irreplaceable.

Annoyance flares in his chest. It’s the strongest he’s felt about anything in the last week, and he latches onto the emotion. Tsukishima whirls on the stranger, who’s now climbing to his feet. “Oi—” Tsukishima growls, at the same time the stranger turns and says, “Sorry—"

Whatever else Tsukishima was going to say dies in his throat. The stranger, who turns out not to be a stranger after all, stares up at him with wide, familiar brown eyes.

“Tsukki?”

 

 

 

 

Tsukishima spends afternoons at the library doing assignments that aren’t due for weeks, and nights holed up in his room preparing instant dinners and drowning out the silence with loud music. He doesn’t wonder what life would be like if he’d chosen to stay in Miyagi, and he definitely doesn’t think about texting Yamaguchi.

Rinse, repeat.

The bakery near the station gives discounts on Fridays, so Tsukishima stops by on the way to his apartment to pick up some strawberry shortcake. Dessert, check. Vanilla sponge can be kept till the next morning before it goes soggy, and strawberries only start bleeding into the cream after a day, so he buys an extra slice. Breakfast, check. Sushi from the nearby supermarket goes for half price after eight, and while he’s there Tsukishima stocks up on the six flavours of cup ramen he knows by heart. Dinner, check, check, check.

It’s routine, but there’s nothing _wrong_ with it. It’s nice to always have some sort of a plan to follow. Not having to worry about social obligations is no loss, either.

His time at Karasuno had been great while it lasted, but he had to leave all that behind when he left Miyagi. It’s difficult to keep in touch with old friends and teammates when so many of them are back there, and him here. This is his life now.

Tsukishima unlocks the door to his room, places his handful of bags on the ground while he shuts it behind him. He’s in the midst of toeing off his sneakers when his phone rings.

“How’s school?” Akiteru demands, the second he picks up. Tsukishima can make out the muted sounds of a television in the background— his brother must have just arrived home from work. “Have you been making friends?”

Tsukishima snorts.

There’s a rush of static over the line, the sound of Akiteru sighing. “Fine, I get it, you’re not a kid.” A pause. “But really, have you made any friends at all?”

Tsukishima sets his cake carefully down on his desk. His thoughts go to the classmate he’d ended up paired with for a history project— some kid with wild hair, bright eyes, and an enthusiasm for absolutely everything. Kind of familiar, now that he’s thinking about it.

“We have group projects in every class,” Tsukishima explains. “So it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

“Have you been talking to Tadashi?” Akiteru asks.

Tsukishima pauses. Freezes up for just a moment, until he realises he actually has an answer to this question. “He was in Tokyo last week,” he says.

Akiteru makes a noise of approval.

“What about you?” Tsukishima asks, mostly in an attempt to steer the conversation away from his lacklustre social life. “How’s Saeko?”

There’s a split-second delay before Akiteru laughs. “Saeko? She’s good. Great, actually. I took her to a new restaurant that opened here last week, and you wouldn’t believe what she said about the food—”

It’s easy to tell something is up when he can’t see Akiteru. Without any visual cues to concentrate on, Tsukishima hears every inflection of his brother’s voice, notices the way Akiteru’s speech speeds up almost imperceptibly, like he’s nervous.

His first thought is that Akiteru is hiding something. His brother had managed to keep his previous two breakups a secret for weeks before anyone found out, but then, Saeko is a little different to Akiteru’s previous girlfriends. It would be a shame if she dumped him.

“Kei? Are you there?”

Tsukishima blinks. “Sorry. I spaced out for a moment.”

Akiteru heaves a dramatic sigh, but Tsukishima can hear the affection in his voice when he says, “Don’t let me hold you up. Go get something to eat.”

He hangs up after bidding his brother goodnight. In the short time between arriving home and conversing with Akiteru, Tsukishima’s stomach has begun to growl. He shuffles over to his bedside like clockwork, opens the top drawer to retrieve the die he’d kept hidden there, rolls it across the floor and watches it bounce several times before coming to a stop.

It lands on a one. Yakisoba ramen it is.

 

 

 

 

The rain has evolved into a full-blown thunderstorm by the time they take shelter in a cafe nearby. Thankfully, the sound of thunder is muted through the glass. Yamaguchi brings their drinks over and places a steaming mug of coffee down on the table in front of Tsukishima.

He slides into the seat opposite with a smile. “I haven’t seen you in so long, Tsukki.”

Something inside Tsukishima clenches. Not uncomfortably, but enough to unnerve him— seeing Yamaguchi has never evoked a reaction like that before. He takes a hasty sip of his drink to distract himself, and nearly ends up burning his tongue.

This whole setup is just like last time they’d met up in Miyagi, when Tsukishima had taken the train back for a long weekend and Yamaguchi insisted on buying him lunch. It’s been months since then, and Tsukishima no longer remembers the details; all he remembers is the way Yamaguchi’s eyes shone when he talked about his university classes, all the new people he’d met, how the team at Karasuno was doing without them.

“I texted you,” Yamaguchi says, and Tsukishima is pulled from his thoughts. He waits for Yamaguchi to continue, but the statement is left at that. It’s not an accusation— it’s never is with Yamaguchi— but Tsukishima recognises the question in it.

“Sorry,” Tsukishima leans back in his seat, as if putting some distance between them might make it more difficult for Yamaguchi to read him. “I was distracted. With work.” He remembers now, that Yamaguchi had mentioned coming to Tokyo. Tsukishima had meant to reply. He just hadn’t quite figured out what to say.

If Yamaguchi notices the lie, he doesn’t say anything. “This is incredible,” he muses. “I had no idea you’d be here today. I’m not even sure where your dorm is. What are the chances of bumping into someone like this in Tokyo, right?”

His hair is a little longer than the last time Tsukishima had seen him. For the most part, though, he seems the same as before. Same freckled cheeks, same sincerity in the way he talks, same genuine smile. Tsukishima averts his eyes. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m here to help pick up a book for Hitoka— ah,” Yamaguchi straightens, as if remembering something. “I was supposed to tell you this earlier, but Hitoka and I, we’re, uh,” he seems to fumble, searching for the right words. “We’re going out.”

The revelation feels like a punch to the gut.

It’s normal, Tsukishima tells himself as he processes and re-processes the words. It’s how you react to something you aren’t expecting. At all.

“Tsukki? Are you—”

“That’s a big deal,” Tsukishima says quickly, trying to keep his voice even despite the way his heart is pounding. He glances at his best friend’s face— Yamaguchi looks concerned and a little nervous, even though a second ago he’d looked pleased. He’d always had a thing for Yachi, that much Tsukishima knows. “Um… Congrats, I guess. Since when?”

Yamaguchi taps a finger against his chin. “Two months now? Just about. I wanted to tell you earlier, but… well, anyway, now you know.”

Tsukishima nods. It’s good news, he tells himself. Yachi is nice, and Yamaguchi is obviously nice, and both of them deserve to be happy.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t explain why he feels sick. His hands are curled into fists under the table, an involuntary response. How should a best friend react to the news? Can he really call himself Yamaguchi’s best friend in this state? He can barely remember the last time he’d had a proper conversation with Yamaguchi, which in itself is a terrible thing to admit. Tsukishima takes a deep breath. He tries to clamp down on his negativity for a minute, think of something encouraging to say.

Nothing has changed, he reminds himself. Yamaguchi is still Yamaguchi. His best friend is still sitting across from him. Nothing is  _different_.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi interrupts in a quiet voice. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Tsukishima’s head snaps up. “What?”

Yamaguchi bites his lip. He seems to battle internally with himself over something, and after a few seconds, shakes his head and smiles. It looks a little forced, and that unfamiliar feeling takes hold of Tsukishima once again.

“Nevermind, forget it. Want to know what the rest of the team have been up to?”

Tsukishima listens to Yamaguchi talk about people back in Miyagi, new and old. He listens to Yamaguchi complain about how much homework he has, and how he’s juggling it with the part-time job he’d taken up at the neighbourhood mart. How it’s exhausting, but he enjoys it, and he thinks of it as a learning experience. It feels almost masochistic, listening to Yamaguchi talk. But Yamaguchi’s eyes light up when he has a story to tell, and that always makes it worth it.

“Okay,” Yamaguchi says eventually. “It’s your turn now. I’m talking way too much.”

Tsukishima has lost track of how long Yamaguchi has been talking, but he feels like a child being denied a second bedtime story. He frowns. “No, you aren’t.”

“Come on,” Yamaguchi urges. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tsukishima insists. He tries not to be bothered by the way Yamaguchi’s face drops, as if Tsukishima is deliberately withholding information from him. “Fine,” he concedes. “What do you want to know?”

Yamaguchi seems to consider the question carefully. “Do you like Tokyo?” he asks, raising his eyes to meet Tsukishima’s. “Are you happy here?”

Tsukishima doesn’t even have to think to be able to answer that question. But then, maybe that’s where the problem lies.

“Of course.”

 

 

 

 

Tsukishima is awoken by the sound of someone banging on his door.

“Rise and shine!” yells a familiar, not-particularly-welcome voice from outside.

Groggily, Tsukishima cracks open an eye. His phone is all the way over on his desk, where he’d probably left it while playing video games late last night. The time displayed on his alarm clock is a quarter past nine— reasonable for a weekday, but far too early for a weekend. Tsukishima rolls over and pulls the covers over his head. Maybe if he lies still and stays silent, they’ll go away.

He’s just beginning to fall into a dream that involves him sniping an opponent with unusually messy black hair when he’s shaken from it by a second, equally familiar voice.

“Tsukki,” the voice calls, and even in his state of half-sleep Tsukishima scowls. Only Yamaguchi is allowed to call him that. “There are no huge-ass footprints in the mud outside, so we know you’re still in there!”

Against his better judgment, Tsukishima allows himself several seconds to sulk before throwing his blanket off to get ready. He doesn’t open the door (the last time he’d let them into his room, he’d emerged from the bathroom to find Bokuto going through his underwear drawer—  _oh, there are little birds on these, where’d you get them?—_  and Kuroo eyeing his headphones), but he’s out the door in fifteen minutes. Which, unfortunately, turns out not to be enough time for Kuroo and Bokuto to have given up and left. Instead, they’re standing in the hallway engaged in a heated argument over pink jelly. Or something.

“It’s raspberry,” Kuroo insists. “That’s the only flavour that tastes good.”

“No way,” Bokuto fires back. “Strawberry is the default flavour of anything pink, _everyone_ knows that.”

“I’m here,” Tsukishima says flatly.

“Tsukishima!” Kuroo turns abruptly and throws his arms open. Bokuto reaches out as if to ruffle Tsukishima’s hair, but Tsukishima clears his throat and steps out of reach.

“So… what are we doing?” he asks.

Kuroo lowers his arms, unfazed. “Something fun,” he promises.

Bokuto beams. “We’re taking you to one of the most exciting places to be on a Saturday.”

All things considered, Tsukishima shouldn’t be surprised when, half an hour later, he finds himself in the middle of one of the university’s unoccupied gymnasiums.

“I haven’t played volleyball in months,” he informs the two third-years, who are dragging their sneakers against the floor to make loud squeaking sounds. Tsukishima is sure that if he didn’t actually know them, he’d be convinced they were in their final year of middle school, not university.

Kuroo waves a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter, you can still learn a new thing or two from your _awesome_  senpai.” He ignores Tsukishima’s unimpressed look in favour of crossing the court to retrieve the volleyball cart.

“We can’t play a match with just three of us,” Tsukishima points out.

“Right,” Bokuto agrees. “Which is why we came up with a different plan for practice.” He straightens, face taking on a serious expression. “It’s always good to learn new things, right? So, Tsukishima, you try setting for a bit.”

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow. “And what about you?”

“I’ll spike,” Bokuto says with a nod. “And Kuroo can try and block me.”

Tsukishima stares. “So you dragged me here to set for you.”

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” Kuroo denies as he deposits the volleyball cart next to the net. He comes over and tries to sling an arm around Tsukishima, but Tsukishima has become adept at dodging those. “We’ll rotate. And we’ll buy you lunch.”

It sounds more like a bribe than reassurance, but they do end up switching up the roles every few points scored. Tsukishima is rusty– there’s no doubt about it. Still, he feels a rush of something each time he manages a successful block, which isn’t very often. Adrenaline, mixed with something else he can’t quite put his finger on. It feels good, and it’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Despite all their spiking and blocking expertise, Kuroo and Bokuto aren’t very good at setting the ball. Then again, neither is Tsukishima. Not everyone has the skills, and not everyone who does have them is Kageyama.

“Why did you stop playing?” Bokuto asks later, when they’re taking a water break. Or a Kenma break, since the only reason they’d stopped was because Kuroo suspended their game to pick up a call from his friend. Or childhood sweetheart. Or whatever Kenma is. Kuroo has gone outside the gym, and now Tsukishima is sitting on the bench next to Bokuto, trying to maintain an acceptable distance between them. It’s nothing personal. Bokuto is just really sweaty.

Of course, Bokuto decides to scoot closer to Tsukishima and nudge him with said sweaty arm. When Tsukishima turns to look at him, Bokuto’s eyes are bright and curious. “Didn’t you like it enough to continue?”

Tsukishima has to think before answering.

Why _had_  he stopped playing volleyball? It had seemed like the most natural course of action. Kuroo and Bokuto— they’re different from him. To them, volleyball is practically a way of life. Tsukishima had fallen out of the habit of playing the sport without any of his old teammates around. It had been as if somehow, somewhere along the way, he’d simply lost the motivation he needed to continue.

“I’m back,” Kuroo announces, startling Tsukishima out of his thoughts. Bokuto jumps eagerly to his feet, question seemingly forgotten.

“That was Kenma, right?” Bokuto asks. “Did he call to ask for something expensive for his birthday again? Wait— does he know you’re in love with him?”

“Yes, no, and shut up,” Kuroo says pleasantly. He turns to look at Tsukishima. “Shall we continue the game?”

They’re good senpai, Tsukishima decides as Bokuto and Kuroo get into an argument over what the score had been before they’d stopped. The two of them like to show up at his room uninvited and drag him out, but that’s probably not a bad thing. If Tsukishima were studying at a university where he knew absolutely no one… but he has to abandon that thought right there, because it’s Kuroo’s turn to spike.

The ball is tossed into the air. It connects with Kuroo’s hand with a resounding _smack_.

Tsukishima extends his hands out in front of him, puts power into the very tips of his fingers, and jumps.

 

 

 

 

“I did it,” Akiteru blurts. “I asked Saeko to marry me.”

Tsukishima almost drops the phone. “ _What_?” he demands. He’d been bracing himself for news of a breakup for the past few weeks, not this. Though, come to think of it, it does make sense. Everything is beginning to fall into place. “And?” he presses, once he’s recovered from the initial shock. “What did she say?”

“She said yes,” Tsukishima can hear the excitement in his brother’s voice. He can picture the look on Akiteru’s face too, that overjoyed smile stretched across his face whenever he scored a goal in their backyard. “She even promised to ditch the combat boots for the wedding. I really think—” Akiteru lowers his voice. “I mean, well, she must like me quite a lot.”

Tsukishima huffs out a laugh despite himself. “Congratulations,” he says. It comes out a lot easier than it had when he’d said the same thing to Yamaguchi, but Tsukishima pushes that thought aside for the time being. Instead, he thinks about how Tanaka will finally, actually be related to him, and he frowns.

“Thanks,” Akiteru chirps, oblivious to Tsukishima’s realisation. “It’s going to be so hectic from here on out, but I’ve been making plans for _months—_ ”

“You started planning a wedding before she said yes?”

“Shush. It’s a lot of work to be done— though I guess you wouldn’t know that— and it’s always good to be prepared.” Akiteru is talking a mile a minute, obviously thrilled by the whole thing. “You’ll be my best man, won’t you, Kei? My best brother? My only brother?”

“Er,” Tsukishima says.

“Good.” Tsukishima can practically hear the grin in Akiteru’s voice. It’s difficult to protest when his brother is in such high spirits.

For some reason, Tsukishima thinks of the girls Akiteru had dated in the past, the ones who had stuck around long enough to be introduce to Akiteru’s little brother— one when Akiteru was in his final year of high school, and one when he was at university. Both girls were all right, though equally forgettable. Akiteru was perfectly nice to them— a little _too_  nice, Tsukishima had thought. Both girls had eventually ended up dumping him.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” Tsukishima murmurs.

“Your day will come,” Akiteru assures him. He pauses. “Or maybe it won’t. Marriage isn’t for everyone. How’s Tadashi doing, by the way?” There’s a brief rush of static as Akiteru shifts his phone from one ear to the other. “He’s invited to the wedding, of course. Wouldn’t want you to come alone and be all mopey.”

Tsukishima would frown if he weren’t already. He frowns deeper. “I’m not… mopey.”

“Whatever you say, little brother,” Akiteru sighs. “Listen, I have to call my friends to tell them the news. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” As is customary with his calls, he bids Tsukishima goodnight before hanging up.

After ending the call, the residual light-hearted mood gradually dissipates. Tsukishima contemplates calling Yamaguchi, telling him everything his brother had just told him. It’s something he would have done without a second thought when they were in high school, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel quite the same anymore. He wonders whether it’s because Yamaguchi is no longer single like him.

Tsukishima knows Yamaguchi’s number by heart. It’s keyed into his phone, so there’s really no need to know it, but he’d memorised it back when he was in middle school, just in case. He toys with his phone in his hand, weighing his options.

Eventually, spontaneity loses out. Tsukishima puts his phone down and goes to make dinner.

 

 

 

 

The wedding takes place outdoors. Despite that the forecast had predicted clear skies, a light drizzle starts up as Akiteru and Saeko are in the middle of exchanging their vows.

Thankfully, the rain doesn’t seem to put a damper on the ceremony. It doesn’t look like either bride or groom even notice until it gets heavier, at which point many of the guests start scrambling to shield themselves with various items. Several ladies raise their handbags, and an especially dramatic cousin dives under his foldable chair.

Akiteru looks alarmed. Saeko, on the other hand, looks amused by the turn of events.

At least the bride is having a good time, Tsukishima thinks from where he’s seated in the front row. He sighs inwardly. It’s not that he’s not having a good time— he’s rather happy that his brother is happy. But there are few things more uncomfortable than wearing a suit, and one of them is wearing a _wet_  suit.

The closing of the ceremony is put on hold until the rain eases, and everyone is free to seek shelter under the tents set up around the area. To prevent her ruining her heels in the mud, Akiteru carries Saeko across the lawn, bridal style, much to the delighted squeals of the bridesmaids (and one faint “ _told you you should’ve let me wear my boots_ ”).

Tsukishima makes sure to go for the tent with the dessert bar in it. It’s a double-win, since it’s also one of the furthest tents from the seats, and so much less crowded. Just when he’s eyeing the fondue fountain and thinking the wedding might turn out to be an enjoyable one after all, someone smacks him on the back. Hard.

It’s Tanaka, with Noya in tow.

“Tsukishima!” Tanaka cries, grin threatening to split his face. “Bro. Bro-in-law. Why are you all alone? Didn’t you bring Yamaguchi?”

Tsukishima takes in the sight of his two former teammates. Tanaka’s untucked dress shirt aside, he looks uncharacteristically sleek in a suit. Next to him, Noya’s suit looks about two sizes too big, but it’s made up for with the enthusiasm radiating off of his tiny frame.

“He couldn’t make it,” Tsukishima tells them. “He has a match today.”

Noya’s enthusiasm wavers for all of five seconds. “That’s a shame, we haven’t seen him in a while. But we haven’t seen you in ages.” He seems to remember something, eyes lighting up again. “Oh yeah— Ryuu and I are thinking of organising a get-together for the whole team. Sort of like a Karasuno reunion. What do you think?”

Tsukishima runs through a mental list of all the teammates he’s ever played with, starting from Daichi’s year, and ending with the current second years. The popularity of the volleyball club had increased with time, thanks to their effort in helping Karasuno shed its ‘flightless crows’ nickname. By the time Tsukishima had graduated, the team had been made up of almost double the number of members it had when he’d just started out.

“That’s a lot of people,” Tsukishima points out.

“True,” Tanaka scratches his head. “What if we just invited everyone from our year, and your year, and the year above us?” he suggests. “The team that made it to the Nationals for the first time in a decade.”

Noya looks excited. “Good idea!”

Tanaka nods. “We could book someplace to eat, and we’d all still fit at one table. A big table. What do you say, Tsukishima?”

Tsukishima hesitates. “I sup—”

He’s interrupted by a loud _pop_ , followed by a small shriek of surprise from outside. All three of them turn in time to see a shower of sparks burst from a section of the fairy lights strung up in the trees, smoke emanating from them. It must have short-circuited thanks to the rain, Tsukishima thinks. It doesn’t seem much of a hazard, and as the sparks float harmlessly to the ground, the wedding guests’ chatter starts up again.

Someone comes stumbling into their tent— it’s Saeko, pulling a sheepish-looking Akiteru along by the hand.

“This is the best wedding ever,” she declares giddily as she heads for the dessert bar. She seems to change her mind when she catches sight of Tanaka, Noya, and Tsukishima, and walks up to them instead. “What’s up, boys? How’s the early reception?”

Noya flashes her two thumbs up. “Awesome!”

Tanaka considers Saeko. “That dress makes you look fat,” he decides.

Akiteru ends up dutifully restraining his bride from tackling her brother to the ground. She tries to grab at his hair, until she realises he lacks hair to grab, and settles instead on a noogie. Noya yells something about living a manlier life to Tanaka above Tanaka’s own yells and, all in all, it’s a sight to behold. A glimpse of their soon-to-be family.

Tsukishima exchanges a glance with Akiteru. Akiteru grins at him despite the chaos and, weak as an attempt it is, Tsukishima grins back.

 

 

 

 

“Hey, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima pauses, pen poised over the writing in his notebook. Next to him, Yamaguchi is staring down at his own unfinished homework, nibbling on the end of his pen. “Yeah?”

Yamaguchi turns to look at him. “Have you thought about what you want to do after high school?" There’s something about his expression that’s— not worried, exactly, but troubled. "You know. Where you want to go, stuff like that?”

Tsukishima leans back in his chair. He knows he plans on going to university— that’s what he and Yamaguchi are in a college prep class for— but he hasn’t yet worked out the details. He always assumed he would follow in Akiteru’s footsteps. His brother had done well enough to get into a good university, and it seems like a reasonable yardstick to go by, even if his brother isn’t his role model in every respect.

“Not really,” Tsukishima admits. “I guess it depends on how I do.” He looks questioningly at Yamaguchi. “Why, do you have a plan?”

Yamaguchi shakes his head. “No, I just— I’ve just been thinking, lately. About how different things will be after we graduate.”

Tsukishima nods in understanding. He hates getting sentimental and thinks it pointless to worry too much about the future, but it’s not irrational. A lot of students in their final year of high school are doing it, especially with final exams approaching.

“I like the way things are now,” Yamaguchi sighs. “Our classmates, our team… it’s hard to imagine life without them.”

Tsukishima thinks of his life as he knows it— waking up every day, putting on his uniform, walking to school with Yamaguchi. Spending most of class time listening to the teacher speak, but staring out of the window. Volleyball practice with his team. Playing matches, feeling the ball against his palm, being slapped on the back when he scores. Walking back home with Yamaguchi at the end of the day.

It’s not a bad life. Something worth getting out of bed in the mornings for. He wonders how much he’ll miss it in a few month’s time, in a year, maybe two.

“People don’t change just because they’ve graduated,” he offers. “You’ll still see everyone, just maybe not as often.”

His words seem to cheer Yamaguchi up a little. There’s a smile on his lips as he looks back to the papers in front of him. "You're right. I shouldn’t worry about it." He peeks at Tsukishima out of the corner of his eye. "Besides, we’ll always stay friends, right Tsukki?”

Tsukishima almost snorts. It’s a silly question— one he doesn’t even have to think to be able to answer.

 

 

 

 

The first thing Tsukishima is greeted with when he walks into the restaurant is the sight of Kageyama holding Hinata in a headlock, while simultaneously holding a conversation with Ennoshita.

“So we’re in the second set, one away from our set point, and the other team’s blockers are obviously expecting a straight spike,” Kageyama is saying. Ennoshita nods along, but every so often glances with concern at Hinata, who seems to have given up struggling to extricate himself from Kageyama’s hold. “Our wing spiker is the obvious choice, but someone wants the ball so badly and won’t stop calling for it—”

Hinata chuckles weakly from where he’s trapped. “We lost because you like tossing to me so much, Kageyama, don’t blame your ineptitude on— _ow_ , that hurts!”

Tsukishima decides not to ask. Yamaguchi brightens when he sees of him, and immediately waves him over. Yachi is sitting on his left, engrossed in a conversation with Shimizu, so Tsukishima slides into the seat on Yamaguchi’s right. He glances around; he seems to be one of the last to have arrived.

“Just like old times, huh?” Yamaguchi whispers as Kageyama makes a sudden noise like a wounded animal— Hinata had bitten his arm to get free.

“So we lost the set, but won the next one, and won the match, so I don’t know what the problem is,” Hinata finishes cheerfully. “Everyone knows Kageyama finds me irresistible to toss to—” he cuts himself off and leaps away as Kageyama makes a grab for him.

“Enough,” Suga says, though he looks like he’s fighting not to laugh. “We get it, you two are inseparable as ever. Who else have we not talked about yet?”

Suga’s eyes scan the length of the table. Tsukishima would try to make himself look as small as possible, if he weren’t such a lost cause to begin with. In the end, Tanaka is the one to spot him.

“Bro-in-law!” he cries, waving enthusiastically. “When did you get here?”

A chorus of enthused _hello_ s and _how have you been_ s follows. Two seats away, Yachi gives Tsukishima a shy smile and wave. Tsukishima nods curtly and looks away.

The one good thing that comes out of Tanaka’s greeting is that everyone is temporarily distracted by the news of their siblings’ marriage. Eventually, though, the topic of conversation comes back to him.

“How’s Tokyo?” Daichi asks. Next to him, Asahi nods curiously and Suga leans forward with interest. “Are you enjoying university there?”

“Yeah, it’s all right,” Tsukishima answers. He doesn’t see what the big deal is. He’d never gotten the hang of small talk, either. What does everyone expect him to say?

Kageyama has that look in his eye, the intense one that usually means his mind is on volleyball. “What’s the team at your university like?” he asks.

The questions go on for a while, until Yamaguchi insists everyone _give Tsukki a break, geez guys_ , and they move on to interrogate Kinoshita about his new girlfriend. Tsukishima isn’t sure whether Yamaguchi had jumped in because he’d known Tsukishima was uncomfortable, or because he’d known they wouldn’t get much out of him, since Yamaguchi had already tried. It’s probably a little of both.

Yamaguchi is right— very little has changed. Hinata and Kageyama still argue non-stop, Daichi and Suga still behave like a married couple, and Tanaka and Noya still do everything within their means to get Shimizu to notice them.

For some reason, though, none of this makes Tsukishima feel relieved or nostalgic. For the first time in months, he’s surrounded by his old teammates— the ones he should be most at ease with. Yet, he feels increasingly tense for reasons he can’t pinpoint.

Midway through dinner, when Ennoshita launches into a story about the team post-Daichi, Suga, and Asahi, Tsukishima pushes his chair back as discreetly as possible and leaves the table for the exit. Yamaguchi can help pay his share of the bill tonight. He’ll pay Yamaguchi back some other time.

He knows they’ll notice he’s missing sooner or later, but for now, he can’t bring himself to care. The conversation at the table had set him on edge, made him feel agitated and— he didn’t know. He just knew he had to get away.

He makes it halfway down the street when he hears Yamaguchi call his name.

He stops walking and waits. “I’m not feeling well,” he says the moment Yamaguchi catches up to him, before Yamaguchi can speak. “I’m going home.” At this point, it doesn’t matter that Yamaguchi will see right through the lie.

Yamaguchi is looking at him worriedly. “Tsukki?”

The look on his face is apprehensive. It’s not something Tsukishima is used to, not an expression Yamaguchi usually wears when they’re together. It’s as if he doesn’t know what to do now, how to deal with Tsukishima. Like he’s facing a stranger, rather than his best friend.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Tsukishima says, a little coldly, even though he doesn’t mean it. “It doesn’t concern you. Don’t worry.”

Predictably, Yamaguchi looks hurt.

Tsukishima doesn’t know how to explain what’s going on. He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling himself. Try as he might not to, his instinctive reaction to whatever it is that’s eating at him is to push Yamaguchi away.

Yamaguchi doesn’t meet his eye. “Tsukki, are you—” He hesitates.

“No,” Tsukishima says, even though he doesn’t know what he’s replying to. “Goodnight, Yamaguchi.” Then he turns to leave.

This time, Yamaguchi doesn’t try to stop him.

 

 

 

 

In their third year of middle school, three boys from their year corner Yamaguchi in the hallway. Tsukishima doesn’t know their names, but he recognises their faces— they’re the ones who used to pick on Yamaguchi before he and Tsukishima became friends. None of them know Tsukishima is there, listening in on the exchange from around the corner. He remains hidden partly out of a morbid curiosity, and partly because Yamaguchi gets flustered when he tries to fight his fights for him.

“—always trailing after that tall guy with the glasses,” one of the boys sneers. “What are you, his dog?”

“No, I’m not,” Yamaguchi protests. He’s standing his ground, but Tsukishima can hear the distress in his voice. “I’m… I’m his friend.”

“He doesn’t even look at you,” a different, equally unpleasant voice pipes up. “Are you sure you’re friends? You’d be completely hopeless without him.”

Tsukishima leaves after hearing that much. He doesn’t bring it up with Yamaguchi, and Yamaguchi doesn’t behave any differently around him. He continues to wait outside Tsukishima’s house to walk to school with him in the mornings, and smiles and laughs and tells Tsukishima everything. Tsukishima, too, starts making more of an effort to be a good friend. He invites Yamaguchi to study with him after school, listens more attentively whenever Yamaguchi talks.

The balance between them is maintained. Life goes on.

 _You’d be completely hopeless without him_.

But the boy’s words couldn’t have been further from the truth. After graduating high school, Yamaguchi goes to a good university in Miyagi. Without Tsukishima, Yamaguchi joins the volleyball club and studies diligently when he’s not practicing. Without Tsukishima, Yamaguchi makes more friends than he ever would have, had they attended the same university and gone around together.

Without Tsukishima, Yamaguchi is _liberated_.

It had seemed like a logical choice, to go to Tokyo for university. Tsukishima’s grades had been good enough— far better than Akiteru had done. He'd taken the chance, hadn't mulled too long over it.

_Hey, Tsukki. When are you coming to visit?_

Yamaguchi’s texts are frequent, but there’s a constant nagging at the back of his mind, telling Tsukishima that it’s not going to matter what his reply is. That he’s become dispensable. That Yamaguchi is better off without him.

He tells himself he’ll reply to Yamaguchi’s text later, when he can think of something reasonable to say. But the words never come, and his replies are hours late, then days, then weeks.

And then, gradually, Tsukishima stops replying to his texts altogether.

 

 

 

  

Someone is knocking at his door, but Tsukishima can’t seem to summon the energy to cross the length of his room to open it.

“Yo, Tsukishima,” comes the muffled voice from outside. “You’ve been holed up in there for… long. Very long. Come on, let a friend in.”

Tsukishima appreciates the concern— actually, that’s a lie. Tsukishima isn’t in the mood to appreciate anything. He just wants to be left alone. His covers look especially inviting, and he contemplates crawling under them and pretending he’s a shellfish. Eventually, he decides he’s above that.

“If you don’t open this door,” Kuroo threatens. “I’ll steal your headphones and give them to Kenma for his birthday.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. Grudgingly, he rolls out of bed and trudges over to the door.

It says a lot about Kuroo’s faith in his own persuasion skills that when Tsukishima yanks the door open, the third-year, who had been leaning his full weight on it, practically falls into the room. Kuroo yelps as he knocks Tsukishima to the floor with him. Thankfully, they don’t end up in a compromising position, but Tsukishima’s fall is cushioned painfully by his hip.

“Whoa,” Kuroo says, scrambling up to put some distance between them. He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t like you _that_  much.” Then he peers closely at Tsukishima. “Shit, are you okay?”

“Ow,” Tsukishima mutters.

“Sorry,” Kuroo sounds genuinely apologetic as he proffers a hand, which Tsukishima ignores in favour of rolling over and getting up himself. It doesn’t hurt to walk, which means he isn’t injured. Just bruised. With an irritated click of his tongue, he readjusts his glasses and pads over to the foot of his bed to sit down. Kuroo follows.

“So,” Kuroo says. “Want to talk?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Not really.”

“Fine, then I’ll do the talking.” Kuroo settles down next to Tsukishima and leans back so that he’s looking at the ceiling. In all honesty, Tsukishima has no aversion to him being there, so long as he doesn’t try and force Tsukishima into doing anything.

“You’ve been all depressed since about a month ago, which was when that Karasuno reunion of yours happened. Yeah, I know you didn’t tell me anything, I heard about it from Sawamura,” Kuroo clarifies, at Tsukishima’s raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know what happened,” he continues. “And I’m not in a position to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. But I see you often enough to be able to tell you this much— you need to be honest with yourself.”

He isn’t wrong, which is probably why Tsukishima doesn’t feel any better. Instead, he feels like a child being called out on his wrongdoings. The back of his neck burns. “Like you’re being honest about Kenma?” he bites out, without really thinking.

Kuroo stiffens. “That’s… completely different.” His expression has barely shifted, still stuck on that lazy half-smile. “I’m honest with myself. I acknowledge my feelings. I just choose not to act on them.”

Something irrational and unpleasant twists inside of Tsukishima.

“Anyway,” Kuroo emphasises. “It’s no big deal—”

“No big deal that you’re in love with your best friend?” Tsukishima sneers. He knows it’s unfair, taking out his frustration on Kuroo when Kuroo is trying to help, but he can’t help it. His fists are balled against the floor, and a faint ringing has started up in his ears. “Because if he doesn’t feel the same, you might ruin everything, but keeping quiet about it feels just as bad? That’s not a big deal to you?”

Tsukishima knows what he’s been trying to deny— he’s unhappy. He’s unhappy because he feels like he’s being left behind by the only friends who ever mattered to him, and he’s unhappy because he’s in love with Yamaguchi. He can’t remember the last time he felt so utterly hopeless.

Kuroo looks like he’s finally understood something. Tsukishima feels completely bare; he breathes out and stares blankly down at his lap.

“Hey,” Kuroo says after a moment, voice gentle. “Like I said, you’re punishing yourself. It’s no use thinking yourself in circles. That friend of yours broke up with his girlfriend, right? It’s not—”

Kuroo continues talking, but Tsukishima’s stopped listening. “ _What_?” he interrupts.

“What?” Kuroo echoes. “What do you mean, what?”

“What do you mean he broke up with his girlfriend?” Tsukishima demands. He has to stop himself from reaching out, physically grabbing Kuroo and shaking him. “Are we talking about the same person? Are you—” The wheels in his head are beginning to turn. He swallows. “Did you hear about this from Daichi too?”

“No,” Kuroo says slowly, confusion written all over his face. “About the breakup? I heard it from Kenma. Who heard it from… Hinata. Who, I presume, heard it from either your friend or his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend.”

The news is like a punch to the gut. Not at all an unfamiliar feeling.

Yamaguchi hadn’t told him when he’d started going out with Yachi, and he hadn’t told him when they’d broken up. Tsukishima is supposed to be Yamaguchi’s _best friend_.

Unlike the first blow dealt by Yamaguchi at the cafe, this one doesn’t incapacitate him. On the contrary, it forces Tsukishima to pull himself together. He knows this is on him— Yamaguchi hadn’t said anything because of _him_. It’s Tsukishima’s own fault. Maybe Kuroo is right— maybe it’s time he stops thinking and actually does something about it.

“You didn’t know?” Kuroo asks, eyes wide. “Well, shit.”

 

 

  

 

The cafe he and Yamaguchi used to study at when they were in high school looks exactly the same as it did a year ago. Yamaguchi shows up two minutes before the designated meeting time and makes a beeline for their table.

“Hey,” he takes the seat across from Tsukishima. The look on his face is caught halfway between hopeful and worried, and one look at Tsukishima seems to tip the scales in favour of the latter. “What’s wrong?”

Tsukishima shrugs, non-committal. “Nothing much. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi sounds disappointed. It takes a moment to register that it’s the first time Tsukishima has asked to meet him since they’d both started university, that maybe Yamaguchi had been hoping he’d wanted to meet just because that’s what best friends do, and not because Tsukishima wants something from him.

Guilt pools in Tsukishima’s stomach, thick and heavy.

Yamaguchi inclines his head. “What did you want to ask?”

Tsukishima pushes aside his feelings for the moment. He’s frustrated, but he doesn’t want it to show. Not that Yamaguchi will be fooled, but still— Tsukishima wants to approach this the right way. Should he get straight to the point, or start with something casual and lead up to it? When did talking to his best friend become so difficult?

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi sounds uncertain. “Is everything—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with Yachi?” Tsukishima blurts out.

He regrets it almost immediately. Yamaguchi looks surprised, but the look is quickly replaced with something else. Apprehension. Guilt to mirror Tsukishima’s own. When Yamaguchi answers, he speaks not to Tsukishima, but to the table between them. “Was I supposed to?”

It’s Tsukishima’s turn to be surprised.

“I mean, it’s… whatever, it’s done, it’s over.” Yamaguchi’s forehead creases. “It’s not exactly something I like talking about, right?”

Tsukishima chalks it up to having known Yamaguchi as long as he has that he’s pretty sure something’s up. Whether Yamaguchi is twisting the truth or leaving something out, he isn’t certain, so he presses on to try and figure out what it is. “Why did you break up with her?”

Yamaguchi rests his chin on his hand, closes his eyes. “I didn’t break up with her, she broke up with me.”

There’s a stretch of silence, in which Tsukishima wonders if he can get his answers without making things worse than they already are. Suddenly, Yamaguchi stands. “Listen, Tsukki, do you want a drink? We should order something if we’re going to sit here, I’ll get you the strawberry shortcake—”

Tsukishima glances towards the cakes on display at the front of the shop. For months, the highlight of his week had been Friday evening stops at the bakery back in Tokyo to buy his favourite dessert. Looking back, it had been kind of sad. Pathetic, almost.

“Yamaguchi,” he says, voice firm, and waits for Yamaguchi to look at him.

Yamaguchi keeps his eyes trained stubbornly on the table. “You hardly ever come to Miyagi to visit on weekends,” he says quietly. “When you do, you don’t tell me. You never reply to my texts, you don’t act like I mean anything to you. So why do I have to tell you anything?”

The guilt is back— immovable, weighing down Tsukishima’s insides.

Yamaguchi takes a deep breath. “I get that you’re angry— you have every right to be— but think about it for one second.” It’s as if something has finally broken in him; his voice rises with every word, and the table is trembling from the way his hands placed atop it are shaking. “Think about what it was like for me to have my best friend ignore me for months. Think about how _I_  feel, Tsukki.”

Several middle schoolers from the adjacent table are beginning to stare. Tsukishima tries to swallow, finds that he feels like he’s being choked. Not because Yamaguchi has got it all wrong— it’s the exact opposite.

“Yamaguchi,” he begs. “Sit down.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t move. “Hitoka broke up with me because she knew,” he says, eyes large and voice shrill. “She knew that even though I liked her, the one I liked most was _you_ —”

Tsukishima stops breathing. He’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a second. 

Yamaguchi looks stricken. He goes completely still before he seems to deflate, sinking slowly back down into his seat. Then he buries his face in his hands.

Everything around them, the sound of cutlery against plates and other customers chattering, seems to be boil down to nothingness. Tsukishima tries to process the words. _The one I liked most was you_. Did Yamaguchi just imply that— but no, it can’t be true.

But then he peers over at Yamaguchi, sees the blush visible beneath his fingers, and he _knows_. Yamaguchi _likes_  him.

“I wasn’t supposed to say that,” Yamaguchi moans.

Tsukishima doesn’t know what he expects to feel, but what he gets is an overwhelming rush of relief. It washes over him, strips him of all of his previous anxieties, and it’s like a weight is lifted off his chest. Something pleasant bubbles up at the back of his throat.

Yamaguchi looks at him through his fingers, mortified. “Are you _laughing_?”

Tsukishima takes a moment to inhale, long and slow. Then he reaches across the table and pries Yamaguchi’s hands off his face for long enough to look him in the eye.

“Hey,” he says, and wills Yamaguchi to understand.

In high school, they didn’t have to be sitting next to each other in class to communicate.

A meaningful glance was all it took to share a joke, and Yamaguchi’s snickers, coupled with Tsukishima’s smirk, would earn them the confused stares and occasional exasperated looks of all the classmates sitting in between.

The whole ‘best friends’ title turns out not to be an empty one, after all. “No way,” Yamaguchi stutters, face turning even redder than before. “You can’t be— you— _really_?”

Yamaguchi’s hand is still clasped loosely in his. Tsukishima squeezes and feels Yamaguchi’s palm against his own, calloused from years of spiking. It’s strangely intimate. “These past few months— I felt like everyone on the team was moving forward,” he confesses. “Everyone except me. But—” he wets his lips, tries to put things in perspective. “It wasn’t something I couldn’t do anything about. It was self-inflicted. And… I’m sorry.“ He stops talking, embarrassed at his own honesty. 

Yamaguchi is looking at him with round eyes. “I thought you were angry,” he says. “I thought… I don’t know. I could’ve gone with you to Tokyo, maybe, but I didn’t. You were all alone there, and you wouldn’t talk to us, so I thought…”

Tsukishima stares at him. “Of course I didn’t expect you to come to Tokyo with me.”

Yamaguchi flushes. “How was I supposed to know that? You wouldn’t _talk_  to me.”

Tsukishima can’t think of a counter-argument to that. He thinks instead of all the months he’d spent miserable in Tokyo because of how scared he’d been to face the truth. In retrospect, he should have known better. Somehow, he still has Yamaguchi as his friend— maybe more than a friend— and that in itself seems almost too good to be true.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tsukishima says. “Now that…” Now that they’ve sorted out their misunderstandings? Now that he knows Yamaguchi _likes_  him, and he likes Yamaguchi as well?

Yamaguchi seems to catch on to what he’s thinking. Tsukishima looks at the tentative smile spreading across his face, and feels his face heat up.

“You really like me, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asks. His voice is playful, but Tsukishima hears the underlying uncertainty there. A result of him growing up not believing he was good enough, Tsukishima supposes, even though he knows better. Yamaguchi is more than good enough. Yamaguchi has always been more than good enough. 

Yamaguchi leans forward. “Do you want to go out with me?”

“Of course,” Tsukishima says, mouth dry. “But before that, we have lots of catching up to do.”

 

 

 

 

Tsukishima makes quick work of the messily-tied bow, systematically removes the tape holding one side of the wrapping paper together. Next to him, Yamaguchi teeters.

“I hope you like it,” he stutters. “I saved up for, uh— for a while to buy it.” He fiddles with the bottom of his hoodie, eyes on the ground. The rest of their classmates have gone home, leaving the usually cramped middle school classroom empty, save for the two of them.

Tsukishima turns fifteen today. Only Yamaguchi would be so absurdly nervous over something like a birthday present, he thinks.

He pulls a large, rectangular object from the wrapping paper. For a moment, Tsukishima thinks it’s a particularly thick book. Then he sees that it’s a box with the image of something sleek and white printed on its front, the surrounding text promising a _high definition sound experience_  and _ultra-durable build_.

It’s a pair of the latest Somy MDR headphones. Tsukishima’s heart skips a beat.

“You’re always listening to music, so I thought you might like one,” Yamaguchi babbles. “Since we’re going to high school next year, it might be cool to have? The quality’s supposed to be really good. But I kept the receipt, just in case, so you can still get it changed for something else if you don’t like it…” he trails off, looking at Tsukishima uncertainly.

Tsukishima has seen the models of headphones on display at the store, but he’d never dreamed of owning a pair. His parents aren’t into electronics; they wouldn’t be able to fathom spending so much money on a single gadget. And while Akiteru tries his hardest to buy Tsukishima things he’ll like, their difference in age always seems to show. Maybe it’s their vastly different tastes. Or maybe Yamaguchi just knows him best.

Tsukishima has never received a more perfect gift.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” he says, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. “I love it.”

 

 

 

 

Tsukishima is dozing off on the train when his phone vibrates. Blearily, he fishes it out of his pocket, before he realises it can’t be anything from Yamaguchi— he said he’d be off running an errand, and would talk to Tsukishima when he arrived at the station. Tsukishima drops his phone into his lap and closes his eyes again.

It’s been two weeks since the confrontation with Yamaguchi. Tsukishima had stayed up to an absurd hour to talk to him over Skype last night, which is the only reason he’s feeling tired at this time on a Saturday. Unfortunately, his phone is now vibrating non-stop with incoming texts, preventing him from getting any rest.

Tsukishima relents, removing his glasses to rub the sleep from his eyes, then checking his phone.

The texts are from Kuroo and Bokuto, in a group chat they’d created months ago specially for the three of them, but used infrequently since Tsukishima didn’t ever reply to anything. Tsukishima scans the ongoing conversation and shakes his head. Even so, he can’t help but crack a smile, and taps out a response of his own.

 **kuroo >:3c (10.44)**: GUESS WHO HAS A BOYFRIEND

 **hoot! (10.45)** : tsukki?

 **kuroo >:3c (10.45)**: NO  
**kuroo >:3c (10.45)**: ME

 **hoot! (10.45)** : i saw him smiling at his phone this morning  
**hoot! (10.45)** : also he disappears on weekends now

 **kuroo >:3c (10.45)**: wait  
**kuroo >:3c (10.45)**: you’re right

 **hoot! (10.45)** : DID YOU FINALLY TELL KENMA???

 **kuroo >:3c (10.45)**: in a manner of speaking  
**kuroo >:3c (10.45)**: you see  
**kuroo >:3c (10.46)**: I tripped  
**kuroo >:3c (10.46)**: and told him I fell for him

 **hoot! (10.46)** : bro

 **kuroo >:3c (10.46)**: and didn’t get up till he took me seriously  
**kuroo >:3c (10.46)**: I have a neck cramp  
**kuroo >:3c (10.46)**: but enough about me

 **hoot! (10.46)** : we’ll get back to you  
**hoot! (10.46)** : tsukki, what do you have to say for yourself???

 **tsukishima kei (10.49)** : don’t call me tsukki

 

 

 

 

“You know,” Yamaguchi starts, as they’re walking from the station to his house. “Back when we were in middle school, there were these guys who used to pick on me for— well, for a lot of things, but mostly for being your friend.”

Tsukishima makes the quick decision to feign innocence, rather than admit to eavesdropping on that one encounter in middle school. He clears his throat. “Really?”

Under normal circumstances, Yamaguchi would probably notice, but he seems distracted. “They told me I followed you around like a dog,” he recalls. “They also said I’d be completely hopeless without you.” He turns to Tsukishima and grins. “Now that I think about it, they were probably jealous.”

 _Of me, for having a friend like you_. “And?” Tsukishima asks, hoping for an explanation as to why Yamaguchi is recounting this like it’s a fond memory.

“And I punched one of them in the nose,” Yamaguchi laughs. Tsukishima stares at him. While he’s distracted, Yamaguchi reaches over, remarkably casual, and intertwines his fingers with Tsukishima’s. “After that, they started calling me a lovesick puppy. But I didn’t care as long as they didn’t say it in front of you.”

Tsukishima nods mutely. Yamaguchi still manages to surprise him, even now.

“Anyway, now that we have all our issues sorted out,” Yamaguchi detaches his hand from Tsukishima’s and turns to face him. “I guess I can do this.” He pulls Tsukishima in, tilts his head up to press a soft kiss to the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth.

It’s over too quickly. When Yamaguchi pulls back, there’s a flush across his cheeks, but he looks satisfied.

Tsukishima takes a step back, breath stuttering. He likes this particular Yamaguchi— assertive and sure of himself, a far cry from the jittery kid Tsukishima met when they were both ten. Not that he had any issue with Yamaguchi when they were twelve. He liked sweet, shy Yamaguchi. But he _really_  likes this Yamaguchi.

“Then I can do this,” Tsukishima says, leaning in to kiss him proper.

He makes sure this one lasts, bringing a hand up to the back of Yamaguchi’s head and angling his own so that their lips fit together perfectly. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but it seems to work well enough. When they break apart, Yamaguchi looks completely dazed.

“Yeah,” he breathes, sounding as winded as he looks. “And— I can do this.”

The third kiss is practically an assault. Yamaguchi catches Tsukishima by surprise, arms coming up to wrap around Tsukishima’s neck and drag him downwards. Their lips clash awkwardly, and Tsukishima feels teeth against his own; Yamaguchi is pressed up against him, but Tsukishima can’t concentrate on that when Yamaguchi’s tongue is in his mouth. It’s not long before Yamaguchi snorts and pulls away, though, and Tsukishima follows suit.

Tsukishima feels light-headed. Yamaguchi makes a wheezing sound that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be laughter. “I’ll get better at that,” Yamaguchi promises, rubbing his nose where it had bumped Tsukishima’s. “I swear.”

By the time they’ve gathered themselves and resumed walking, Tsukishima’s heartbeat has slowed to its regular pace, and something new is weighing on his mind. He draws in a breath. “About Yachi—”

“Don’t worry,” Yamaguchi says quickly, a look of understanding on his face. “I didn’t upset her or anything. It was a mutual thing. Honest.” Then, almost as if it’s an afterthought: “Have you seen the way she looks at Shimizu?”

Tsukishima pauses, stumped by the turn the conversation has taken. He considers the question for a moment. “No,” he admits.

“She never looked at me like that,” Yamaguchi explains, a little wistful. “Besides, like I said, she was the one who broke up with me, and she wasn’t the one who—” he stops talking, a familiar stricken look showing up on his face.

“The one who what?” Tsukishima asks sharply. “Did you cry?”

Yamaguchi looks away. “Of course not,” he stammers. “Why would I…” He stops walking abruptly and claps his hands together, as though something has just occurred to him. “Let’s get dinner later,” he suggests, loud and with false cheer. “There’s a new yakisoba place that opened just down the road, it’s supposed to be pretty good.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but doesn’t press the matter.

“And tomorrow, you have to play volleyball with me,” Yamaguchi adds, a new resolve in his voice. “I don’t care if you’re not on your school team, or even part the club. As long as I’m around, you’re not allowed to lose your touch.”

“Okay, okay,” Tsukishima says in the most patronising tone he can muster. He delights in the way Yamaguchi scowls at him.

“Shut up,” he mutters. “I’m just looking out for you. You’re lucky to have me.”

“I am,” Tsukishima agrees. By now, they’re nearly at Yamaguchi’s house, and Tsukishima doesn’t protest when Yamaguchi decides to jog the last few blocks to get home quicker, dragging Tsukishima along by the hand.

The air is chilly against his face, but Tsukishima hardly notices it. It occurs to him, right there and then, that lot of good things have happened recently— Akiteru got married, Kuroo got with Kenma, Yamaguchi’s hand is in his. Tsukishima’s life is finally in order.

And for the first time in a long time, he feels happy.


End file.
